


Fever

by draculard



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: All the tensions basically, Angst, God help me for writing those three words, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Whump, Woobie Victor Frankenstein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22816957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Between the disgust and the curiosity, curiosity won.
Relationships: Victor Frankenstein/Frankenstein's Creature
Comments: 2
Kudos: 137





	Fever

Victor is little more than a walking corpse himself when he comes face to face with the Creature once again. The waxy translucent quality to his skin  — his flat, colorless hair  — the bruises beneath his eyes, the shivers which wrack his body  — it’s all too familiar.

_ Family resemblance,  _ the Creature thinks. 

Poor Victor’s eyes are burning, but he’s shaking so hard he can barely stand on his feet. He grits his teeth, glares defiantly at the Creature from the mouth of the cave. His arms are wrapped around his midriff, hands clutching at his ribs.

This has been tearing him apart, the Creature realizes. All of it  — from his creation until now, Victor has known no rest, has suffered as much or more than any of the Creature’s victims.

A smile touches the Creature’s face. Rubbery lips do their best to turn up, to form a grin.

Good. 

Let him suffer. Let him look on the Creature’s face and quake as the Creature does when he sees his own face reflected back at him in the water.

It’s Victor who made him this way, after all. 

* * *

The Creature speaks, and Victor listens.

And then, without warning and without fanfare, Victor collapses. His knees strike the rough stone floor of the cave; he falls sideways, skull bouncing off the stone, and everything is black. 

A small part of his brain is still  _ just _ alive enough to thank God death came so quickly.

He wakes, unfortunately. He becomes aware of blood crusted on his nose and upper lip, of a small, shallow cut on his cheekbone and a bruise forming around it. When he opens his eyes, he sees rough-cut stone above him and knows he hasn’t been moved.

The cave is lighted now by a fire. He turns on his side with difficulty, sees the Creature sitting on the other side of the flames. 

In this warm light, Victor can almost convince himself he’s succeeded.

For just a moment, the Creature is beautiful. 

Still, passing moments can never last. The pain and cold make themselves known immediately, distracting Victor from his discreet examination of the Creature; he pushes himself to his hands and knees with the softest groan, aware of an ache in his knees, in his back, in his ribs.

_ Everything _ aches, really. He shouldn’t be surprised; everything’s been hurting for the past year. But he’s just awake enough now, and just cognizant enough even through the constant pain, to crawl out of the cave. To sunlight, to safety, to the real world.

Instead, he crawls to the fire.

To his creation.

His son.

Victor curls up as close to the fire as he can comfortably sit, with his arms wrapped around his knees. He’s aware he’s taking the fetal position; he knows how that looks to the Creature. He can’t bring himself to care.

Let the Creature think he’s weak, that he’s despicable, that he’s a coward. What Victor  _ really _ is is something much simpler.

He’s curious.

He can’t help it. He’s  _ always _ been curious.

* * *

Even sitting down, the Creature is aware of his own massive height and build, of the way he looms over Victor from across the fire. Months of distress have taken their toll on Victor, whittling his already-narrow frame down to nothing. Hunched over as he is now, he appears no larger than a child.

Unease stirs in the Creature’s gut. It mixes with satisfaction, with rage, with anxiety.

_ I  _ want _ him to suffer, _ he reminds himself.  _ I  _ want _ him to look like this. To be in pain. _

And he does, but it’s so much more than that. If he only wanted Victor to suffer, he would grab his brittle hand and force it into the fire, hold it there until Victor’s screams gave way to silence and he collapsed again. 

What he does instead is stand and circle the fire until he’s standing by Victor’s side. 

And then he only sits.

His thigh brushes Victor’s; his elbow bumps Victor’s shoulder. The smaller man (real man, the Creature’s brain insists.  _ Whole man. _ ) does not look up. He keeps his face buried in his knees, his body little more than a taut line.

“Look at me,” the Creature says.

Victor does. Despite the paleness of his face, there are two spots of color on his cheeks. A fever? Signs of distress? His lips are parted, chapped. Pink.

There’s something in his eyes.

“You have questions,” the Creature says, “don’t you?” And when Victor doesn’t answer: “You always have questions.”

Eyes lock  — cold white eyes on watery blue. Victor’s breath is hitching; his chest stutters; he can’t seem to pull in a single deep breath, but he doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away.

His eyes are still open when the Creature leans forward and presses his own foul lips against Victor’s.

“Ask,” the Creature says, and his breath is warm against Victor’s cold skin. He puts a broad hand on Victor’s waist, another on his shoulder.

He feels Victor open up to him, uncurling from the tight, fetal ball he’s rolled himself into. Back straightening, arms opening, legs spreading. His thin chest presses against the Creature’s. His hands are gripping the Creature’s arms with all the strength he can muster; the Creature barely feels it.

“Ask,” the Creature says again.

But Victor can’t form the words.


End file.
